


bleeding out for you

by uhposey



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Derek, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-25 22:23:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/958280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uhposey/pseuds/uhposey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's almost eight and Derek still isn't back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bleeding out for you

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this: http://imagineyourotp.tumblr.com/post/59435140899/imagine-person-a-of-your-otp-becoming-blind-after#notes

It’s almost eight and Derek still isn’t back.

If Stiles is anything, it most definitely is not worried. He’s fine. Derek’s fine. Everything is just freaking fine.

Nine.

Maybe he just got held up. Maybe Scott’s car is taking a little longer than they’d thought. Maybe he got distracted watching Real Housewives with Allison. Everything’s fine Stiles just breathe Stiles it’s not the first time he’s gotten home late Stiles.

Ten.

Stiles is up and pacing now, his hands on the back of his head, muttering to himself like a mad man. Derek always scolds him for pacing (“You’ll wear a trail in the floor if you don’t cut that out”) but Stiles is painfully aware that Derek still isn’t here.

The phone rings, making Stiles jump. He can’t get to it fast enough, his hands fumbling as he holds it to his ear. “Derek?”

“Hello, is this Stiles Stilinski?”

It isn’t Derek.

It takes Stiles a moment to answer. “Yeah, who the hell is this? Where’s Derek? Is something wrong?”

A pause. Then: “There’s been an accident.”

Stiles stops really listening after that. The words keep echoing in his head like they’re on loop. The voice in the phone sounds distant and grainy, and he barely hears them as they say Derek is at Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital. He only hangs up when they tell him to, still stuck staring straight ahead, cradling the phone to his chest and wondering if he’s dreaming.

It takes him a second, but finally he snaps into action, dropping the phone on the counter and grabbing the first pair of shoes he can find. He remembers his keys at the last second, ignoring the December chill as he runs out to his Jeep.

He doesn’t remember the drive to the hospital. One minute he’s backing out of the driveway, and the next he’s standing at the front desk with only the memory of headlights flashing past his eyes to tell him he’d been driving at all.

The woman at the desk looks up as he approaches her. “Welcome to Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital, what can I-”

“Hale, please,” Stiles says, running a shaky hand through his hair. He watches her tap her perfectly manicured nails on the keyboard for two seconds before his patience is gone. “Hale, Derek Hale!” he snaps, looking down the hall, craning his neck for a better view.

He hears Derek’s name being said, but it’s distant, like it was on the phone and on the drive to the hospital. A doctor appears and says something. It’s a question. Stiles just nods. Whatever it is, yes, please, just take him to Derek.

They walk.

The doctor leads him down a maze of white halls.

Derek’s not dead.

There are so many rooms.

He can’t be dead.

There’s someone in every room, but never the one he wants to see.

He’s fine.

Not Derek.

He hates the smell.

Not Derek.

It reminds him of the night his mom died.

Not Derek.

And then

Derek.

Stiles pushes past the doctor into the room, running to Derek’s side. He’s sitting up in the hospital bed, his hands very still in his lap, his head down. There’s a cut on the side of his cheek, but he’s alive, and that’s all Stiles asked for.

“Derek,” Stiles says, relieved. “Thank God. They said you were in an accident. What happened to you? Are you okay? I mean, look at you, of course you’re okay, you’re the king of okay.”

Derek is quiet.

Stiles hesitates. “Derek?” he says nervously. “You’re okay. Right?” His voice shakes, but he ignores it. He has nothing to worry about. Derek’s fine.

The doctor starts to speak, but Derek shakes his head.

“Can I talk to him alone?” The first words Derek’s said this whole time.

The doctor nods and leaves, shutting the door gently behind him. Stiles looks at Derek, feeling his heart race and his hands shake. “Derek, what’s going on?” he asks quietly. His voice sounds too loud. His heartbeat thuds in his ears.

Derek lifts his head, looking not quite at Stiles but at a place somewhere to his right. His eyes are empty, his face cold and closed off.

Something’s wrong. Why won’t he look at Stiles? Was it something he said? “Derek, please, look at me.”

“I’m trying.”

Stiles frowns. “I don’t understand.”

"I can’t see you, Stiles!" Derek snaps. "I’m-I’m blind, okay?" His voice breaks. "I’m trying to look at you, but I can’t."

Stiles’ words catch in his throat. He can’t breathe. He shudders, squeezing his eyes shut and opening them again slowly. Derek’s eyes are closed now, his head down again. He looks so broken, so ashamed. 

Stiles reaches out and takes Derek’s hand. It hurts when Derek jumps like he wasn’t expecting it.

Stiles takes a breath. Another. Breathe in, breathe out, until he feels like he won’t break down crying.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he says softly, kissing Derek’s hand lightly.

Derek smiles a bit, but he doesn’t look too hopeful. Stiles just wants to take all of his pain away, and it kills him to know that he can’t.

“Someone brought you flowers,” he says finally, looking at the beautiful arrangement on the bedside table. “They’re from Cora.”

“Stiles.” Derek hesitates. “Can you… What do they…”

Stiles smiles through the tears in his eyes. “They’re roses. I wouldn’t have gotten you roses – too cliché.”

Derek laughs, a small sound that seems almost involuntary and makes Stiles smile wider.

“They’re alright, I guess, as far as roses go. Red.” He pauses, thinking about what he’s going to say. “There’s a little bit of dew on them, like they caught snowflakes on the way in and melted on the petals,” he says finally, his voice gentle. “She wrote you a note. It says, I love you Sour Wolf, with hearts for O’s. She used pink pen, a personal favorite of mine.”

Derek’s smiling, his eyes closed, his hand holding Stiles’ tightly. Stiles looks at him adoringly. They’ll be fine. He’ll be Derek’s eyes; he’ll be Derek’s everything.

He rubs circles on the back of Derek’s hand with his thumb, smiles, and goes back to describing the flowers, the bed, the room (“The décor is hideous, I would have gone with a nice turquoise if it were me.” “It’s not you.” “I know, but it doesn’t hurt to dream”), everything.

It’s always been Stiles that’s needed help, needed Derek. Derek’s always been there for him, loved him when no one else did.

He won’t let Derek down.


End file.
